


We Were Such a Good Invention

by AshesandGhost, looneyngilo2



Category: due South
Genre: Community: pt-lightning, First Kiss, M/M, PT-Lightning Challenge: Round 4, Podfic & Podficced Works, Podfic Length: 20-30 Minutes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-31
Updated: 2014-05-31
Packaged: 2018-01-26 23:34:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1706645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AshesandGhost/pseuds/AshesandGhost, https://archiveofourown.org/users/looneyngilo2/pseuds/looneyngilo2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a year working together in the Northwest Territories, Fraser and Ray decide to go on vacation to the International Festival of Authors in Toronto... A story of crime, cuteness and literature.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Were Such a Good Invention

**Author's Note:**

> Text by Looneyngilo2, podfic by AshesandGhost.

  


[MP3](http://ashesandghost.parakaproductions.com/podfic/weweresuchagoodinvention.mp3)

[Podbook](http://ashesandghost.parakaproductions.com/podfic/We%20Were%20Such%20A%20Good%20Invention.m4b)

 

“I’m just trying to get you away from all these tents. Flowers and books and rain everywhere,” complained Ray. He wasn’t uncomfortable, in fact, he felt like he knew the place already. But enough with the books.

 

“It is a book festival in the middle of autumn in Toronto,” said Fraser, waving a book in front of Diefenbaker, who sniffed it and whined. Fraser then held it to his own nose.

 

“Fraser, Fraser...” Ray sighed.

 

“You can smell that this book was used to press flowers. Lavender, specifically,” said Fraser, handing the used leather-bound copy of Jane Eyre to Ray.

 

Ray considered smelling it, but all he could really smell was the wet cement, the rain, and the old brick of the shops lining the street.

 

“Sorry,” Ray said, smiling at the vendor who was staring at Fraser. “Um, you, you want this, Fraser?”

 

“Well, Ray, there can never be too many books in our cabin. Well, technically there could be, but we could always donate the excess to the local library. Unless they find themselves with too many -”

 

“Yeah, ok.” Ray smiled, and paid for the book.

 

As they walked away, Fraser said, “Why, thank you, Ray. You didn’t have to do that.”

 

“It’s our... vacation. Uh, you didn’t have to come down with me.”

 

“Well, really, I did. You complained so much about the need for a tv and highways and dumpsters.”

 

“I did not say I missed dumpsters.”

 

“I recall that you did.”

 

“I said I missed the sounds of dumpsters being emptied. I - It’s weird.”

 

“Yes it is, Ray.”

 

“I also said I missed fast food.”

 

“Are we going to eat burgers again? Because Diefenbaker still gets too excited at the prospect.”

 

“No, I want to hit up that place -” said Ray, pointing to a shop.

 

“The tattoo or donut shop?”

 

Ray laughed. “Both!”

 

“Delphine, what is this?!” They turned toward the shout and saw a woman standing at her tent, taking books out of a box, bewildered.

 

“I don’t know, Lydia, I don’t know,” another woman-- presumably Delphine-- said, and headed to their van. She looked through another box. “I think - oh my god, I think they’re all -”

 

“In French?! How did this happen? We hand chose every book!”

 

“Don’t -” said Ray, but Fraser was already off to help.

 

“Hello, may I be of some help?” he asked them. The women stared at him. “Oh, I - of course, you wouldn’t know this, given that I am in what you could call, plainclothes, but you see I am on vacation, and it really wouldn't be appropriate of me to wear my uniform, though surely it would make things clearer-”

 

“He’s a mountie,” said Ray, approaching. “What’s happening with your, eh, books or something?”

 

“They’re all in French,” said Lydia.

 

“Ok?”

 

“We handpicked every book. They were books written by Canadian feminist writers, about women, mostly little known works! In English!” said Delphine.

 

“Well, you sound French-Canadian, maybe you confused the English and the French?” said Ray, flirtatiously.

 

Delphine and Fraser both looked at him with similar expressions of disgust.

 

“Could you have?” asked a slightly shocked Lydia.

 

“No, of course not!”

 

“You gave me the wrong box, John!” said a man, in the tent next to them.

 

“I did not, Cecil! This is Box 42!” shouted a teenager.

 

“What seems to be the problem, sir?” asked Fraser, walking towards them.

 

“New workers, not versed in library science,” said Cecil.

 

“Box 42! It says it right here!”

 

“I know you can read numbers! I’m saying you packed it wrong! French books should be every multiple of 10.”

 

“I -”

 

“They’re all in French?” asked Ray.

 

“Well, this box.” said Cecil.

 

“Would you mind checking another box or two?” Fraser asked.

 

John nodded, and opened a box from their stack. “43... the 3s are Sci-Fi... This is in French, too!”

 

“What are you talking about?” said Cecil, moving box 43 and opening another. “Horror - in. French.”

 

“I - I swear it wasn’t me,” said John.

 

“You’re on probation for this job, how could you make such a mistake -”

 

Fraser interrupted. “Uh, sir? It seems this may be a more widespread problem. The owner of Du Maurier Books, your neighbor here, has also found her inventory replaced with books in French.”

 

“What? What is this, a prank?”

 

“I’m sorry, but I don’t see anyone laughing, so I would assume it is not,” Fraser replied.

 

“What? Is that - what is your wolf doing?”

 

“Ah, Diefenbaker seems to be smelling the books. He enjoys the smell of old books. And coffee. He’s quite happy to be here.”

 

“What do you sell? Uh, feminist books or?” said Ray, who’d slowly walked over during their conversation.

 

“Uh, genre works, actually. New pieces from up and coming but known writers. People featured in anthologies and genre magazine awards, you know?”

 

“So not like Du Maurier Books,” said Ray.

 

“We have some fantasy and horror,” said Delphine, who’d been hovering near them. She smiled at Ray,

 

“We’ll have new inventory, calling our workers but Lydia’s still angry about the books.”

 

“You aren’t?”

 

“Well, I think we have to help these people,” said Fraser, loudly.

 

“Uh, yes, yes we should. Maybe we should split up. You and, uh, Cecil here can go, and uh, do things. Delphine and I will, uh, go ask more people if their books were changed.”

 

Diefenbaker started following Ray and Delphine as they walked away. “No, Dief, Dief!” called Fraser.  He bit his lip, tugged on his brown leather jacket, and smiled brightly at Cecil.

 

Dief kept whining and nudging Fraser. “I don’t know what you want. No, Dief, you have to be much more clear about what it is that you’re trying to say.”

 

Fraser was really not in the mood. He tried not to mind when Ray met another pretty girl, but it always hurt. There was always a sadness he couldn’t shake, one that made him more uncomfortable in his own skin than he already was, and it often made him irritable.

 

Dief pawed at Cecil, who froze.

 

“Oh, no need to be afraid, he’s really normally very calm. Must be the smell of those fries that excites him. Dief! Dief!”

 

Dief had run into a store, and they followed him in, where they found him sitting near a children’s storytime area.

 

“Dief -”

 

“Is that a wolf?” asked a little girl.

 

“Um, well, he’s actually...” and so he began telling the story of Diefenbaker, from birth to naming to the many, many times he’d saved Fraser’s life.

Dief laid on the floor and was covering his nose. The children were riveted.

 

“So,” asked the woman who had been reading to the children, “You’re from the Yukon? And spent some time with the Aboriginals?”

 

“Well, Inuit, specifically,” and so started another story.

  
  
****

 

Ray and Delphine had gone down the street, and every tent found their books in English changed to French copies. The last place to check was Wallflower Bookstore. Ray recognized Fraser’s voice inside the building. They stood by some bookcases towards the back, as a rather large crowd had gathered around Fraser, watching him. The story had transitioned to talking about his experience as a Mountie.

 

“So you work with a Mountie?” whispered Delphine.

 

“Uh, yeah, sort of. Unofficially.”

 

“Here in Toronto?”

 

“No, uh, we live in, uh, the - Northwest Territories. It’s a whole area. Snow. Lots of snow. And trees.”

 

“Oh,” said Delphine nodding. Then she called out to Fraser, “You pass the time with poetry, you said? Which is your favorite?”

 

“Well, I - favorite in terms of rhythm or that I like to recite?”

 

“Love poem,” someone from the crowd said.

 

“Ah. Well...

 

_They amputated_

_Your thighs off my hips._

_As far as I'm concerned,_

_they are all surgeons. All of them._

_They dismantled us_

_Each from the other._

_As far as I'm concerned_

_They are all engineers. All of them._

_A pity. We were such a good_

_And loving invention._

_An aeroplane made from a man and wife._

_Wings and everything._

_We hovered a little above the earth._

_We even flew a little._

 

Ray shuffled uncomfortably. He remembered having felt that way with Stella. He still had a piece of his heart that recognized her as home, that yearned for the happiness and passion he could feel with her, for the way no one was ever as important as her, for the way loving her was a sort of salvation - salvation from all his screw ups, from all his flaws, the way vying for her attention and love had become his main drive in life, his heart still yearning for the love she had somehow lost. It yearned for her body, longing to touch her, to smell her, see her, hear her, too - she’d been home for twenty years. A destructive, addictive home.

 

Delphine leaned in and whispered. “Ah. How long have you been together?”

 

“What?”

 

“You and the Mountie?”

 

“Three years.” The words “ we’ve been working together three years” died in his mouth, the taste of them bitter - minimizing it to a work partnership felt wrong, but he didn't know what else to say. They were roommates? Work partners? Good friends?

 

“What about favorite as in... it burned into your bones,” said Delphine.

 

Fraser hesitated, giving an uncomfortable smile, and a silence settled, but finally he began:

 

_My friends have left. Far away, my darling is asleep._

_Outside, it’s as dark as pitch._

_I’m saying words to myself,_

_words that are white in the lamplight,_

_and when I’m half asleep_

_I begin to think about my mother._

_Autumnal recollection._

_Really, under the cover of winter, it’s as if I know everything -_

_even what my mother is doing now._

_She’s at home in the kitchen. She has a small child’s stove,_

_toward which the wooden rocking horse can trot,_

_she has a small child’s stove, the sort nobody uses today, but_

_she basks in its heat. Mother. My little mommy._

_She sits quietly, hands folded, and thinks about_

_my father, who died years ago._

_And then she is skinning fruit for me._

_I am in the room. Sitting right next to her._

 

Fraser paused for a breath, and Ray stepped towards him.

 

_You’ve got to see us, God, you bully, who took so much!_

_How dark it is outside! What was I going to say?_

_Oh, yes, now I remember. Because_

_of all those hours I slept soundly, through calm nights,_

_because of all the loved ones who are deep in dreams,_

_now, when everything is running short,_

_I... I can’t stand being here by myself._

_The lamplight’s too strong._

_I am sowing grain on the headland._

_I will not live long._

 

The silence settled again, and much of the crowd seemed uncomfortable.

 

“That poem, sowing grain on the headland: where things can’t grow,” Delphine murmured.

 

And Ray stared at her for a long time, repeating the words of the poem as they became a part of him.

_Because_

_of all those hours I slept soundly, through calm nights,_

_because of all the loved ones who are deep in dreams,_

_now, when everything is running short,_

_I can’t stand being here by myself._

 

_I can’t stand being here by myself._

 

Ray struggled to pull himself together as he listened to those words in his heart, and knew. Knew that he was never alone again, never lonely, because he was home when he was in the cabin, when he was in the woods, when he was in the city. He was always at home now, because he was always with Fraser. He’d found a new home - a calmer one, a steady one, a quiet one, not fire and fear and pain and relief, just... safety and support and caring and wanting to be...

Sowing grain on the headland: where things can’t grow, he repeated in his mind. And out loud, said “No,” voice trembling.

 

Delphine frowned at him, and said “I’m going for a smoke.”

 

He followed her out, not entirely sure where his legs were taking him. They stood outside, under the awning, as the rain had started again, and she smoked and talked and he barely listened.

 

*****

 

Fraser had smiled, joyful at the sight of Ray as soon as he came in. But he’d also seen the whispers and the smiles and the intimacy Ray and Delphine already seemed to have. His heart felt sore, fear winding around him, his mind numb. And the pain intensified when they walked away.

 

And then Dief barked. Loudly.

 

Cecil was leaving, having picked up a bag, and was hurrying his pace. Dief ran after him, Fraser close behind.

 

Cecil bolted out of the bookstore, and Ray, who’d been standing next to the doors outside, ran up next to him.

 

“Who are we following?” he asked Cecil.

 

“No! Ray! We’re trying to catch him!” shouted Fraser.

 

“What?!”

 

“Yes!”

 

“Oh!” and Ray struggled to grab Cecil around the neck, and they slowed down enough that Fraser fell on them. They all hit the ground at once, sprawling in puddles. Cecil’s bag tipped and spilled out a lot of flyers. Flyers about Quebec Separatists, lauding the need for a French-Only Quebec.

 

******

 

Cecil was being arrested and put in a police car while Delphine and Ray watched, back under the awning.

 

“Why did Dief lead them in there?” she asked.

“Well,” said Ray, rubbing off the mud as best he could. “He recognized the scent of the storytime teller all over the French books, and so he went in there. While there, Cecil couldn’t resist but get the flyers for part two of their plan, and Dief recognized her scent again, in the bag he took.”

 

“Ah,” she said, laughing. “So the dog does the work for you?”

 

“Sometimes,” said Ray, also laughing.

  
*******

 

Fraser watched as Ray and Delphine laughed, and she handed Ray her card and whispered something. She left, with a skip in her step, to go back to her tent.

 

“They’re still working?” he asked Ray.

 

“Ah, no, they’re packing up and then they’re done for today. Too much excitement for one day. Or not enough, she just invited me to go bar hopping.”

 

“Well, I - have fun,” said Fraser, trying to be as sincere as possible.

 

“Eh, I’m tired. Maybe tomorrow.”

 

“Yes, visiting with Delphine or exploring Toronto with her would be good. Seeing a city with someone who loves it and knows it, especially when it’s a beautiful woman -”

 

Ray gave a half-smile, “I’m not interested in her.”

 

“Oh, not interested?” asked Fraser, lightly teasing. “You don’t think she’s a beautiful, accomplished, interesting woman?”

 

“And she’s very nice and funny, too,” said Ray, smiling.

 

“And smart, I would assume,” said Fraser, returning the smile.

 

“She is,” said Ray, laughing and looking down at the ground.

 

“And a city person,” said Fraser more gently.

 

“Yeah. I’ve just - I’ve been thinking about... I was thinking about Delphine, and I realize I can’t. I can’t even try with someone new, I - I am already in love. I already love someone.”

 

Fraser nodded and also looked down. Every mention of Stella was like a stab wound to the heart. He’d tried to accept that Ray would always love her, would always love her more than anyone else, had a devotion for her that he’d never have for Fraser, and after years of hearing about her, surely this would have gotten easier. But it wasn’t. And it wasn’t just that it killed him to know Ray would prefer to be with her, that he’d be better off with Stella. It was that he hurt for Ray, for the unfairness of loving someone and losing them because you drifted, because you changed. The unfairness of loving someone and having it mean nothing.

 

“I’m in love with someone funny and frustrating and smart and insane and kind,” said Ray, his voice thick. “I kinda... hate it. I mean, I was miserable before but I kinda wish... I'd been left that way - I’ve screwed up so much, I keep looking at the mistakes. I’ve hurt - not on purpose, but I meet girls and get excited and sort of forget about... because it’s different, - so I’ve hurt - then again, maybe these feelings - they’re just mine.”

 

Fraser kept nodding.

 

“I can’t have what I want. Sowing grain in the headland, right?”

 

Fraser looked up, confused, just as Ray lunged at him and kissed him.

 

Fraser didn’t kiss back. He was shocked. He couldn’t really feel or think anything beyond “oh,” so he didn’t actually move.

 

The kiss was over in a second, and Fraser controlled himself. He wouldn’t let himself feel happiness, or worry, or…

 

“I’m sorry,” said Ray, not looking at him.

 

“It’s ok,” said Fraser, staring at him. “I - I don’t understand, but it’s ok.”

 

“I’m sorry!” said Ray, angrily. “If I- I. I shouldn’t... have-”

 

Fraser took a hesitating step towards him, yet pulled himself back as he spoke. “Ray... Do you mean?... Do you mean me?”

 

“Of course I do,” whispered Ray, still not looking at him.

 

“Ray.”

 

They were silent for a bit.

 

“Ray, I don’t know what... I can offer. I don’t know that I can do this... But. I know I've never... I know this is different.”

 

Ray looked up, half angry and confused. “What?”

 

“You want to be with me?”

 

Ray half-laughed, “I’m always with you, Fraser.”

 

“I - I want to be with you, too.”

 

“But I’ve - I don't know, but I’ve - that means I’ve hurt you... a lot.”

 

Fraser couldn’t say it wasn’t true, but he’d always forgiven it, and he didn’t want to be in pain, not right now. He smiled, “We don’t really know what we’re doing.”

 

Ray smiled back, frowned and said “No.”

 

And this time, when Ray kissed him, Fraser melted into the kiss, feeling his lips, his stubble, his hands holding his face, the pressure, the way his heart jumped into his throat and began racing, the way he felt happy and safe and warm. The way it felt like home.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Author's notes: special thanks to twitter user akamine_chan for her idea on the crime plot, and to AshesandGhost for being such a good person to bounce ideas off of! :)  
> Poems were "A pity, we were such a good invention" by Yehuda Amichai and "A Small Elegy" by Jiri Orten.  
> Du Maurier books, btw, is a shout out to Daphne Du Maurier and the San Francisco bookstore Mrs. Dalloway's (go visit if you can!).
> 
> Podficcer's notes: Thanks to looneyngilo2 for being a great person to work with! This was a ton of fun.


End file.
